Between
by LuvEwan
Summary: Obi-Wan rebels. A completed vignette.


Between Written by LuvEwan 

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

PG

Response to the 'Obi-Wan rebels' challenge in the Obi-Wan Character Workshop.

O 

The stars were bright and painful. He looked to the darkness between each spark and wanted to sink into that darkness. He wanted to submerge his arms and legs and, most of all, his mind. That would be a beautiful sleep, because it would be heavy and thick, without the interference of ugly, blinding dream-light.

It seemed the Universe was a gaping mouth, tasting the very essence of him, sampling the empty caverns within him, but never swallowing. He was caged prey, and couldn't help but think that a pair of massive eyes was watching him squirm.

A light began to blink electric crimson in the claustrophobia. He looked down at the button and felt the power shift, as his gaze became that of the cool observer. That light would go on into eternity, unless he intervened. Certainly he would have preferred to shut himself off from it, and continue on down the slick ink avenues alone.

But he was Jedi, and so he rarely did what he preferred to do.

Still, his finger wandered the outside perimeter of the button a few satisfying seconds before he pushed it, and received the waiting transmission.

"Master Kenobi," The nasal voice of the Bawalian sovereign began, "I must say that your level of promptness does not reflect well on your Order. The committee has been assembled for some time now. We would get underway, if not for your most noticeable absence."

Obi-Wan smirked and once again, wasn't permitted to voice his true feelings on the matter. Instead, he cleared his throat and addressed the perturbed (and quite perturbing) King. "I apologize for my tardiness, your Highness. I am approaching Bawal as we speak."

An unimpressed snort. "And we should wait for your casual arrival, Master Kenobi? Perhaps Jedi are regarded as miniature gods on other, lesser worlds, but the parliament of Bawal will not be fools, indulging your haughtiness. The meeting will begin without you. And when you finally find your way to the conference chamber, there will be no throne prepared for you.

"Do you understand?"

Obi-Wan glanced out the beaten fighter window and smiled. "Perfectly."

O 

Samell was a pebble compared to the boulder of Bawal, and they existed in a constant state of sharp contrast. A sea of vessels would stream into the latter while only a handful would veer off from the rest, to the tiny world populated by mechanics and patched together by shabby villages.

And in any chosen village, there were several watering holes.

Obi-Wan landed in a secluded area and settled the cowl over his head. He stepped from the speeder; the air smelled of grass and dirt, and seeped immediately into his lungs. He walked the short distance from his transport to the first town roads. The sun was losing its hold on Samell, and its fading call painted everything in gray comfort. Faces softened even as their lines deepened.

Quickly, he determined this to be a place between the dark and the star, a half-lidded place.

The tavern was immersed in shadow, the corners were long saturated in rust. It resembled nothing of the crisp committee room on Samell; he had no doubt. The differences were lovely.

He moved through the tangle of bodies, chairs and tables, coming to rest on a stool at the far end of the bar.

A richly colored array of liquor was lined up before him. He realized he had enough credits stowed to purchase anything of his liking.

"What'll you have, sir?"

Obi-Wan looked up. "A virgin delliazi." His mouth slowly spread in a quiet smile, "With extra muja slices."

The bartend lifted an eyebrow, but nodded. "Coming up."

O 

Obi-Wan crossed his arms and leaned against the fighter. The red haze came and went in measured intervals. He couldn't help but see it out the corner of his eye, but his focus was devoted to the sky.

"_The Bawalians are rather upset with you."_

Laughter bubbled in his throat. "How can they be upset with me? I'm suffering from an extreme fever. Sweat. Chills. It's very unpleasant."

"_Feigning sickness? I must say that's very unlike you, my Padawan. Could it be the four virgin delliazis?"_

"No." Obi-Wan assured the voice that spoke delicate as a whisper and reassuring as a rumbling baritone, "It was probably the extra muja."

Somewhere, Qui-Gon Jinn was laughing, and Obi-Wan did not chance fate by questioning why he was blessed enough to hear it. Any other day, he would have smothered the sound beneath good sense, but this just wasn't any other day. Seven years ago on this day, Qui-Gon's voice had been silenced, and nothing had been able to reach Obi-Wan's ears the same way since. On this anniversary of his most terrible anguish and loss, it was difficult for Obi-Wan to hear much of anything.

"_As I recall, you had similar effects after your initial encounter with that particular drink. It was quite the unenviable task I had that night, explaining that my fifteen year-old apprentice wasn't drunk, but coming off an enormous sugar high. I still don't think the Council believed me."_

Obi-Wan chuckled. "Well of course they didn't believe you. You were drunk!"

"_I'm afraid you're mistaken. Jedi Masters don't get drunk."_

"Then I've been deceived all this time. I tender my resignation. Be sure to inform the Council."

There was a morose tinge to the reply. _"Oh, I would, if I didn't believe they needed you, very badly."_

Obi-Wan's hands disappeared into the roomy sleeves of his cloak. The moisture fled his throat. "And what about what I need?"

"_Everyone has their time, Obi-Wan. When they are granted their own version of peace. You simply must wait until that time comes for you. It is the essence, the Rule, of life."_

He didn't say it aloud, for fear he would spoil the moment, but Obi-Wan thought that perhaps, one day, he would have it in him for one last act of rebellion.

**O**


End file.
